


Water of Life

by firenewt



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gift Exchange, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 00:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: Shera questions her memory of an unusual encounter many years ago when she was a grad student doing research on an isolated island in the British Isles. Do beings such as mermen exist? And if so, what would that mean to her now?





	Water of Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherahighwind](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sherahighwind).



> This story is my half of an art trade with sherahighwind on Tumblr. The request was for an AU story about Cid and Shera, with the prompt word "merman".
> 
> Cydchwedleuwr is a Welsh word meaning 'one who confabulates', or likes to talk. I thought this suited Cid well! The actual pronunciation is with a hard C at the beginning of the word, but I took the liberty of having it said with a soft C to correlate more closely with the pronunciation of 'Cid', and spelled 'Cid' as 'Cyd'. It also sounds appropriately wet. :P
> 
> Also, this Cyd just would not swear. I tried and tried, but it was a no go, and I apologize for that! I guess by being so stubborn, however, this Cyd is definitely his own man, so he's true to the character in that respect! :)
> 
> This was alot of fun to write. Thank you, sherahighwind, for this opportunity, and for the trade, and for your amazing and lovely artwork featuring Cid and Shera! (Go check out her work on Tumblr! But be warned there is lots of nsfw stuff!)
> 
> Thanks, too, to Square Enix for letting me play with their characters.

Water of Life

 

Shera dumped another stack of files into a box and bent to check if she had them all. Empty drawer. Good. One more filing cabinet to go. Her grad students teased her about still using “hard copies” but she saw no reason to break the habits of a lifetime, and now it was a moot point. Clearing out the office she had occupied for the forty years since she had gained tenure was bittersweet. This was her life. This, and the beaches and tide pools and mudflats where she spent her time in the field. And the lab where the data she gathered was massaged and dissected and coalesced into the fifty-two papers and two textbooks that had established her as a leading marine biologist. But now it was time to move aside, let the young blood build on her research. And it was taking every ounce of her willpower to see this ending through. 

And it was time to rest her leg, too. Wincing, she felt for her chair and sat heavily, stretching her right leg out in front of her and rubbing her knee. Damn knee! She had torn the ligaments over a decade ago; it had never healed properly and now arthritis made it swollen and stiff. A cane helped stabilize her and she supposed she was lucky to still be as mobile as she was. But oh, how she missed the days of running along the beaches, of kneeling and bending and walking without pain or conscious thought.

“How’s it going?” A cheery voice jerked her out of her thoughts. . Shera looked up at Moira’s irritatingly young face with its smooth skin like cream and clear blue eyes, and black hair bouncing in a perky ponytail behind her. Bah! Disgusting! Her hand went involuntarily to her own cheek...still soft, and, as long as she didn’t look in the mirror, she could fool herself that there were no wrinkles or sunspots from her years out in the elements.

Shera sighed. “Its going fine, I suppose. The knee is giving out sooner than I am. But I’m just about done.”

“Excellent! I had a feeling it might be time for a break!” Moira handed her one of the large mugs she was carrying, then shrugged her backpack off her shoulder, dropping it onto the floor and snagging another chair with one foot, bringing it close and plopping into it. 

Shera eyed her suspiciously. “You keep telling me you don’t have the Sight, but then you pull shit like this. Are you holding out on me?”

Moira wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t take much to look at a clock and figure out that the old lady is due for her afternoon snack. Besides, it’s the gingers who have the Sight. Hasn’t been a ginger in my family for over two hundred years.”

“Your family’s all a cagey bunch, if you ask me. Always looking sideways at shadows and making the sign against the evil eye.” Shera took a cautious sip from her mug. “Mmm. How did you know I wanted mint today?” She narrowed her eyes at the younger woman, who stuck out her tongue. 

“Please. There are two full boxes of mint and green tea with mint, and only four bags left of the earl grey, and those looking like they haven’t been touched in a hound’s age. It’d be a sorry waste of five years of grad school if I couldn’t deduce which kind you liked more! Besides, how many years have I worked with you? I think I know your preferences by now.” She bent and pulled a bag of seaweed crackers out of her pack and tossed them on the cluttered desk. “And keep your superstitions to yourself. I’ve never even been to the old country. You’re the one who’s been contaminated with all those old wives’ tales!”

“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio’.”

“Pooh. If I can’t touch it, taste it, see it, measure it, and record it, I’m not interested!”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Shera smiled. She sat back in her chair, balancing her mug on her tummy and popped an ibuprofen and then a few crackers into her mouth. “Yes. I sure feel more comfortable now, knowing I’m passing the torch to such a...” she chewed thoughtfully, “straight-laced thinker.”

A snort of laughter quickly died and a bright blush painted the younger woman’s pale cheeks. She squirmed a bit, and Shera laughed. Knowing each other so well worked both ways. She knew exactly how to tease her assistant, who still found innuendo disconcerting. Again she sighed. She was going to miss this.

“So!” Moira said brightly, changing the subject quickly to avoid more needling. “It looks like you’re just about done packing things up. What’s left? Do you need any help? You’ve only got two more days to clear out, you know.” She stopped, one hand going to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said softly from behind her hand, her forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean...that was really insensitive. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Shera leaned forward and patted her knee. “I know what you meant. Gotta get all the rest of this into boxes so they can be moved out tomorrow, and the cleaners can come in.” 

The two women sat in silence for a minute, looking into each other’s eyes. Teacher and student, mentor and disciple, friends despite the years between them. Of course they had promised to keep in touch; go for tea at least once a week; keep each other up to date on the latest, but they both knew it wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be working side by side every day, and their lives were diverging. One was moving forward, coming into her own right, excited for the challenges and achievements that awaited her. And one was moving into the exit lane, looking more backwards rather than forwards as life slowed and faded in its intensity. It was a turning point that neither of them wanted to admit was upon them.

Shera looked at her hand on the other’s knee. Tanned but the skin looking thin and dry and spotted; veins standing up a bit; fine silvery scars here and there from handling sharp coral and shells. A strong hand yet; she wondered what it would be doing next week at this time. She lifted it and gestured to the one filing cabinet that she still had to empty. “There’s just that one to box up. Would you mind doing that? Then I can sit and sort out my desk. We should be done by five, and make the movers happy.”

“Yes!” Moira exclaimed, too enthusiastically for what the job entailed, but reflecting her relief at having the tense moment broken with something productive to do. She jumped up and grabbed a couple of empty boxes. Shera tried not to envy her energy and effortless movements. “Hand me a box, too?” she asked, and they both turned to their respective tasks.

An hour later, Moira taped her last box shut with a screech of the big tape dispenser, and sat back on her heels. “Done!” she said. “I’ll stack this one with the rest. Did you want me to tape yours shut, too?” She hadn’t been paying much attention to the older woman while they worked, and now she looked up to see Shera sitting silently, a long, slim, rectangular box in her hands, staring at it with a distant look in her dark eyes. 

Moira waited a moment, but there was no response. “Shera?” she asked again. “Hello! YO! Anybody home?” 

“What??” Shera started. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were done. Were you having a senior moment?” she teased gently.

“No, I....” Instead of laughing, Shera seemed disturbed. She frowned down at the box.

Moira shuffled forward on her knees until she was kneeling at her mentor’s feet. “Are you okay?” she asked, peering up into her face. “Is your knee hurting? Are you tired?”

Shera snorted, her usual humour back and crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Back off, child. I’m not so decrepit yet!” She looked down at the box again and then stuffed it into her shoulder bag. “But I _am_ hungry! Here, put this last one with the others and then let’s go get dinner. My treat.”

“Sounds good to me! Fish and chips and dark ale at the Lighthouse?”

“One more time. We can pretend it’s just another Wednesday. And I could use a walk on the esplanade.” 

Later, bellies pleasantly full and feeling more relaxed, the two strolled slowly in the warm spring evening, admiring the sunset pinks and oranges painting the sky. Waves lapped at the breakwater, every fifth one bigger, and the grey of the water reminded them that winter was not quite over. They found a bench and sat, enjoying the air, each quiet with her own thoughts.

After a while, Shera lifted her shoulder bag and brought out the box. She sat holding it again, gazing out at the sea, as Moira eyed her curiously and waited for her to speak. She knew her friend, and knew there was something she wanted to say.

Finally, Shera blinked, returning to the present. She held the box out to Moira, who reached for it hesitantly. “What is it?” she asked.

“Open it,” Shera said. 

Moira looked for a clasp, a seam, a lid that she could lift, and found nothing. She held the box up, squinting to see if there were any notches or seams as she turned it over and over and finally, by chance, her fingernail caught in a small crack that blended into the grain of the wood. She worried at it a bit, and suddenly the end of the box slid to the side. Moira peered into it, then upended it, but nothing came out. Carefully, she poked two fingers inside and felt something that felt like cloth. She worked it out, removing a wad of coarse wool, then felt inside again. This time she could feel something hard encased in what felt like another layer of wool, and it slid out with some coaxing.

Setting the empty container on the bench between them, Moira carefully unrolled the layer of finer wool, and found what appeared to be an odd-looking shell, long and whorled and iridescent, with a large bump toward one end and a bias cut on the other.

She turned it curiously, feeling the fragile material and tracing the grooves spiraling around it. She held it up to the dying sunlight, squinting into it. “It’s hollow, I think. But I can’t see all the way through because it twists. It’s like a snail’s shell inside. What is it? Some sort of pipe? Or flute? Or is it natural? I’ve never seen a natural shell like this before.” She glanced at Shera, who was watching her, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. 

“I don’t know if it’s natural or not. Its shell, yes, but as to whether it’s a man...” she paused “a made object, I don’t know. But I’m quite sure it’s meant to be played, like a flute. See the end, I think you’re supposed to blow in there.”

Moira looked. “But there are no finger holes. It must be a very simple instrument, if that’s what it is. Where did you get this? Have you ever tried playing it?”

And she raised it to her lips and blew softly into the indicated end. There was a low breathy moan, like the wind in the rocks on a cold and lonely shore.

“Don’t!” Shera cried, grabbing the shell from the surprised girl. But it was too late. The sound throbbed in the air, pressing on their eardrums, and slowly faded away, leaving them with the impression they could still hear it, and _feel_ it, at a subliminal level for several minutes after it was gone.

“I’m sorry!” Moira said. Shera was pale and trembling as she clutched the shell to her bosom and stared out at the water as if anticipating a kraken to rise from the depths. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, then carefully rewrapped the shell in its wool and returned it to the box, putting both out of sight in her bag.

“Shera?”Moira asked tentatively as the older woman seemed to come to herself again. “Please, what...I’m sorry, did I wreck it?”

Shera turned big eyes on her. “I don’t think so. I just...I’ve had that for years and I’ve never once done that. I don’t know...” her voice trailed away and she glanced out across the water again.

“Don’t know what? Why would you have something like that and not even try it? Is it an heirloom or something?” Now that the oddness of the moment had passed, the curiosity of an enquiring mind reasserted itself.

“Truthfully I forgot I had it. Or, more accurately, I hadn’t thought of it for so long, until I found it at the back of one of the drawers in my desk. I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave it behind.” She took one more look at the water, glowing in the sunset, and then squared her shoulders and turned her body on the bench to face Moira.

“I’ll tell you the story that goes with it. I haven’t spoken of this to anyone, mind you. But it seems like a good tale to share on an evening like this.” She smiled wryly. “A tale for my ever-doubting student. One you won’t find in my files or papers or notebooks. Will you listen?”

Moira nodded wordlessly, mirroring her mentor on the bench and wondering what she was about to hear. The small hairs on the back of her neck had been prickling ever since she had breathed into the shell, and she shivered slightly in anticipation.

“Alright, then...”

 

Granny glasses perched on her nose; multicoloured bandana around her forehead; the fringe of her yellow poncho draping along her generous behind and the hems of her bell bottoms swinging with each step of her sandaled feet, Shera Highwind, third year grad student extraordinaire, strode off the inter-island ferry and stopped to survey her home for the next year. Grey. Everything was grey. Black-bottomed grey clouds met a rumpled steel-grey ocean at a horizon that was barely visible. The craggy rocks in the distance were grey, some streaked with lighter whitish-grey where the guano of generations of gannets and puffins nesting on their tops had smeared down their sides. The tarmac of the ferry terminal was grey. Even the people were grey, in their wool sweaters, with faces weathered and beaten into much the same shade and contours as the cliffs. 

Shera was, in fact, the only spot of colour on this side of the island.

Hefting her rucksack, she put on her best smile and stuck her hand out to greet the driver of the truck that stood nearby, piled with her gear and waiting to take her to her research site. The dour fisherman looked her up and down, noting her mass of chestnut hair barely held back by the bandana; her obvious lack of a bra; the bright colour of her poncho that brought out the colour in her cheeks; and the purple paint on her toenails. He reluctantly reached out, gingerly took her hand and gave it the smallest, most perfunctory of limp shakes before dropping it like a dead fish.

The sparkle of enthusiasm in Shera’s dark eyes dimmed a little. Of course, she thought, they probably don’t have many visitors out here. And they’re certainly not up on the latest fashions. But does he have to look at me like I’m something he’d rather not find in his net? 

She sighed, smiled again, and climbed into the lorry. As they slowly chugged around the perimeter of the small island, leaving the one small hamlet behind and far out of sight, she had to appreciate the sweeping vista of sea and sky. And as they rattled up the hill to the top of the tor, she finally found some colour in the almost electric green of the vegetation, and it was a relief to the eye.

Her grim friend helped her unload the supplies and set up her small tent, silently vetoing her first choice of campsite for another with less of a view but more protection from the constant wind. He pointed back the way they had come and said “town”, then pointed east where the unpaved track continued and disappeared around and down the hill and said “MacGregor”. And then he climbed back into his truck, shifted it into a groaning first gear and bumped back to the track and headed back the way they had come. 

And then she was all alone except for the wind, which was always present in some form, from a breeze to a gale, and the occasional distant cries of birds. “Well!” she said, hands on seal-curve hips. “First things first!” and dug into the pile of boxes and crates to find the little propane stove and set it up for tea.

There was a visit from the truck to bring food and mail every two weeks, and a trip to town once a month for any other supplies and to post her own mail. Otherwise Shera was left to her own devices. She had arrived in late spring, and the university had arranged for her to stay for a year, studying the intertidal ecosystems of the more isolated northern islands. She was excited to have such an opportunity and hoped to get enough data to write her doctoral thesis. But she also felt like an adventurer, a pioneer and an explorer all in one. In addition to being a scientist, of course. 

When she finished setting up another small tent to store her equipment in and use as a field lab, Shera gave it a loving pat. “One small step for me, one giant step for womankind!” she said with satisfaction, anticipating great discoveries to come.

Shera spent the first week exploring and familiarizing herself with her domain, and then got right down to brass tacks. Her time was taken up with meteorological, oceanic and astronomical measurements; specimen collection, identification, examination and preservation; and making meticulous notes and sketches. She took her work very seriously.

The days grew longer and warmer, and there were more of them where the sun managed to break through the clouds and dispel the grey. At those times Shera’s little slice of island became a piece of paradise. The grass glowed; the water sparkled; the air filled her head with its briny tang; and the colours were so intense they were almost painful to look at. On those days she couldn’t resist spending a few hours basking nude in the sun on the top of the tor, or making her way down to the tiny strip of sand at the bottom of the cliff and wading into the sea to splash around. Sometimes the round dark head of a seal would pop up not far from shore and stare at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world. She would stare back, and wave, and laugh when it blew a surprised gust of air from its nostrils, and with an audible inhalation, sank from view again. 

Sometimes she would stare at the water when it was relatively calm, thinking that it looked like the skin of some giant beast, too big to comprehend except to see its hide twitch and wrinkle and heave as it breathed. She wondered what went on underneath that skin, in the cold dark depths, and shivered. She was very glad to stick to her pools and the shallows, and not venture further out.

And when a gale blew in and lasted for four days, confining her to her tent, she finally met her nearest neighbours. Ronald Ian MacGregor appeared in a truck that looked like it had rolled off the very first assembly line and sounded like an asthmatic bullock. But she was glad enough to squeeze into its tiny cab and spend the remainder of the storm with the family at their croft, drinking uisge and tea; gnawing on hot bannocks; and wiping tears from eyes that watered constantly from the smoky peat fire.

The MacGregors were gracious and hospitable, in their rough way, and were excited to find that she was not familiar with the history and lore of the islands. They regaled their fresh audience with endless stories of saints and sinners, magic stones and magic fish, selchies and kelpies, blessings and curses, until her mind spun from trying to sort fact from fancy, and her dreams were full of strange whispers and firelight.

Back in the clean air and the light of day, all that was forgotten. Shera had set up an on-going experiment in two tide pools near her little beach and was anxious to check on them. The day was warm and she pulled on a pair of cut-off shorts and tied her shirt up under her breasts; slipped on a pair of old canvas sneakers to protect her feet from the rough rocks; slung her messenger bag with her supplies for the day across her body and headed down the sea side of the tor. 

That was a day she would never forget, each detail etched into her memory. The air was clear and she could see for miles. The smell of the ocean was sharp; the rocks were rough under her palms as she steadied herself on the way down; and the waves smacked on the hard sand of the tiny beach and against the smaller jumble of rocks just off shore. 

Setting up a row of small specimen vials and tucking a wax pencil behind her ear, she crouched by the first tide pool and was soon engrossed in sifting through the detritus left by the storm. 

Shera never knew what it was that made her look up right at that moment. Perhaps she subconsciously heard something, or caught a movement out of the corner of her eye or a reflection on her glasses. Perhaps it was a sixth sense, like a cold finger running down the back of her neck. But at some point she found herself standing, the better to see what was going on near the small ridge of rocks that ran out from the far end of her little cove to deeper water. 

During high tide the tops of those rocks were barely visible, often overrun by incoming waves. But at low tide, with care, it was possible to walk along their spiny ridges and look down into the dark depths from which they rose. Shera had made her way out a few times, mostly looking for any limpets or whelks that might cling to the rocks, but she didn’t like the feeling of being so exposed and close to the deep water, and usually stayed away from them even at the lowest tides. 

Was that one of her seal friends? But the head rising out of the water was not round and dark, like a seal. It was light coloured...and before she could register more than that, it was followed by an arm, then another, grasping ahold of the rough rock, and then, muscles visible even at a distance bunched and rolled as they pulled upward. The naked torso of a man was followed by the tail of a fish, scaly hips swinging gracefully up out of the water and on to the rock, the broad delicate looking fin at the end of the tail braced against the rock for balance. 

Too shocked to even move a few steps back into the shadow of the rocks behind her, Shera stood gaping until an incoming wave washed over the edge of the tide pool and soaked her legs, the cold making her jump and come back to her surroundings. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Still there, skin and scales glistening with water that was quickly drying in the sun. The tail was as thick and muscular as the creature’s arms and shoulders and chest, but where his skin was tanned golden, the tail shimmered and flashed with a cobalt blue overlaid with the silvery iridescence of the inside of an abalone shell. 

A merman! Shera thought wildly. Right before her! And she pinched herself to make sure she was awake and hadn’t fallen asleep in the grass on the tor and was dreaming all of this. And as she watched, the creature reached to his waist and seemed to be working at something there. Shera squinted but she was just too far away to see clearly what he was doing. And then she had to put out a hand to support herself against the nearest rock, breathing hard to stop from passing out. For the merman had removed a sort of thin belt, the same colour as his tail and seeming to be made of the same scales, from around his waist, and as he did so his tail melted away, dissolving into two very human legs. 

Coiling the belt around his wrist and forearm, he stood, slicking back his blond hair and then stretching, a long, ecstatic, full-bodied stretch, up on his toes, fingers reaching for the sky and head thrown back, every muscle tensed and outlined. And then he relaxed, shrugging his shoulders, and walked along the spine of the outcropping he was on, heading toward the shore, heedless of his bare feet, and heedless of his bare everything else. 

Panicking, Shera took one step back without thought, an instinctive movement by her body, and stumbled over the lip of the tide pool. Her foot slipped, her arms flailed, and she fell backwards, landing on her butt with a splash. Gasping, she floundered for a minute, trying to get some leverage, and finally scrambled out on her hands and knees and knelt panting, her hair hanging in a sodden rope and her glasses askew, looking frantically around to see if she was still alone. She didn’t think the merman had seen her but she had no idea how dangerous he was. 

Merman! What was she thinking! Her brain was short-circuiting, unable to process what she had just seen or accept it. She must have sunstroke! She must have fainted and hit her head and had some crazy hallucination about what she had heard at the MacGregors! That must have been what it was, there could not possible be a naked man...fish man....thing...a few dozen feet away and possibly going to appear in her little cove any second now! No no no! 

Her only thought was to get off the isolated little beach where she was trapped between the rocks and ocean. With the strength and speed of adrenaline she was up the steep rocky path and running blindly back to her camp, diving into her tent and sitting there trembling and clutching her walkie talkie and wondering if she should call for help.

After a long time, her heart slowed. There was no sound to be heard but the usual wind sushing over the grass. She felt silly to have panicked like that. It was totally unlike her, the level-headed, logical scientist who wasn’t scared of anything. She deliberately put the radio down and pushed it aside, then picked up a towel and started to dry her hair. Too many of the MacGregors’ stories, she snorted, scoffing at herself. On top of too many sips of their excellent uisge. She must have seen one of the islanders coming out of the water after a swim, just an ordinary man, and imagined the rest. The light on the water must have dazzled her eyes and caused an optical illusion. A momentary waking daydream. Yes, that was it. 

She pushed at her hair in disgust. It would need washing now. And she’d need to clean the scrapes and scratches on her arms and legs from her unexpected contact with the sharp rocks. Thank goodness her glasses were intact!

And then she realized that she had left her bag, her notebook, and all her samples on the beach at the bottom of the cliff.

And try as she might, and as firmly as she tried to tell herself that she had imagined the...whatever she saw, Shera couldn’t make herself go back to collect her things. Besides, she reasoned, it was getting late now and it would be even more silly to traverse the path in the dark and risk further injury.

It was the next day before she ventured out again, armed with her utility knife, a whistle and a squirt bottle of formaldehyde. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with any of those items if actually confronted with a real person, but they made her feel safer.

She crept carefully down the path again, stopping often to look around, up and down, in case someone was hiding near her. But there was nothing to be seen and nothing to be heard. A lone gannet circled above and then disappeared over the top of the tor.

At the bottom she stopped, and couldn’t help her exclamation. “No!” The area was clean. No sign of her bag or bottles or anything else. Thinking that maybe she had knocked them into the pool she darted forward to look, and found it empty and undisturbed except for her previous struggling. Could they have been swept out to sea? The waves had been relatively calm the previous day and not rushing the beach, but it was possible. And if that was the case, then they were gone beyond recovery. 

One last look around. Still nothing on the land, nothing caught on the rocks off shore, nothing floating out on the water. She made one last circle, looking down, and stopped. Next to the edge of the pool were the clear prints of large bare feet. She swallowed. They weren’t her footprints. They were far too big. And she had been wearing her sneakers anyway; the marks of her shoes were plain all over the area. The footprints overlaid them. She followed them with her eyes. They came from the far side of the little cove where the cliff face ran into the water, made a straight line to her pool, then continued to the edge of the water. 

Determined not to give in to panic again, Shera deliberately climbed the path, though her heart was pounding in her ears, and walked calmly back to her camp, keeping a sharp lookout for any sign that anyone else was in the vicinity. She didn’t find any. She didn’t sleep that night, but sat in her tent in the dark, listening, with her finger on the button of the walkie talkie.

The next day an unhappy grad student with dark circles under her eyes and her hair draggled and uncombed paced around her little campsite, holding her radio and pondering what to do. Should she call for help? Hike down to the MacGregors? What would she say? They would think she had cracked, and nod their heads and agree that it was to be expected. She was obviously one of those strange people with long hair who took the drugs and marched with signs and meddled with sciencey stuff. Everyone knew a woman belonged safe in a house, with a man to protect her, and not to worry her head about what went on outside her four walls. That was the natural order of things and to go against it, well, this was the result.

Angry, she kicked at the grass. She would not admit she was scared! She had worked hard for her position, she had earned it, and she did not want to lose this once in a lifetime opportunity! Would an explorer give up and run home because they were frightened? Would a pioneer give up her dreams at the first obstacle? 

“No, no, no! I won’t give up! I won’t give them the satisfaction!”

“Atta girl. You tell ‘em!” came a distinctly male voice behind her.

Shera screamed and whirled, nearly falling backwards again. There, in all his golden tanned glory, stood the man from yesterday, grinning at her, and with her bag slung over his shoulder. At least today he was wearing some sort of kilt-like wrap held on with a thin leather thong around his waist. He made no move but the stress and anger and shock and fear of the last day overwhelmed her, and Shera squeezed the radio to her chest in both hands and screamed again at the top of her lungs. And Shera had very impressive lungs. 

The man winced. “Enough, woman! Is that really necessary?! You’re louder than all the birds on the island put together!”

Shera shut her mouth but glared at him. “Who ARE you!” she demanded. “Why are you sneaking around here! And sneaking up on me! And you took my BAG!” Her voice rose again and she wished she had her bottle of formaldehyde handy.

“I didn’t know if you’d be back for it, and it would’ve been taken at the tide. So I brought it to you.” The bag was held out to her, as he neatly sidestepped the other questions. 

Shera snatched it from him and, with one eye on the stranger, flipped open the flap to glance inside. Amazingly, everything seemed to be present and intact, even down to her pencil. She huffed a bit, and then said grudgingly “Thank you.”

The man grinned at her again, baring even white teeth. “I wouldn’t touch your things,” he said, and his gaze traveled up and down, lingering on her chest. Shera felt her face grow hot and stood there uncertainly as he drifted around her camp, inspecting everything visually but not touching, as he had promised. His bare feet made no sound on the grass. The wind tugged at the wrap he wore and Shera found herself watching how the muscles in his calves flexed with each step he took.

Then she shook her head. “You didn’t answer my question!” she said, determined not to be put off by a kind gesture and distractingly nice legs. 

“Which one?” he asked absently, bending to take a closer look at the propane stove. The wind caused his wrap to bell out and lift slightly and Shera gulped.

“The...the...the first one!” she managed. “Who are you?”

He straightened, strolled over to her lab tent and ducked inside. 

“DON’T GO IN THERE!” Shera yelled, hurrying over, though what she might do to get him out of there escaped her. With any other person she would have no qualms about grabbing their arm and hauling them out. But she had a strange reluctance to get too close to this man, and certainly did not care to touch him.

“Oi, the voice on you!” The man grimaced again and stuck a finger in one ear and shook it. “Break my damn ear drum, why don’t you! Never fear, I’m out. See? Coming out!” He ducked back out and Shera retreated quickly, getting well out of his way. “You’ve lots of fancy gewgaws, but I see bits and pieces of little beasties.” He wrinkled his nose. “And it smells. Not a place I’d want to stay anyway.”

“It’s my research!” Shera exclaimed defensively. “I have to preserve the specimens, and...” she trailed off, aware that she had been sidetracked again and the stranger had folded his arms across his chest and was watching her in amusement.

“Your eyes spark when you get all worked up, did you know?”

That was the last straw. Her face burning, Shera flung out her arm and pointed at him imperiously. “Get out!”

“I am out.”

“Get out of my CAMP!” she ordered. 

“Ah, you’re banishing me, then.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes! It’s my place! OUT! NOW!” 

He shrugged again. “I’ve been banished before. But you’re by far the best looking banisher I’ve dealt with.” The eyebrows waggled at her.

“Ooooo!” Exasperated, and angry that she felt so flustered, she flung her walkie talkie at him. Instantly horrified that she had thrown away her only way of communication with the outside world, and that she might actually hit him and make him angry, she could do nothing but watch as it sailed through the air. But he merely stretched out a hand and it smacked into his palm as he caught it mid-flight.

He turned it over curiously, then looked at her, hefting it absently. “Is this a favour to take with me in my banishment, then? Or were you trying to speed me on my way?”

Shera put her hands to her cheeks and groaned. What was happening! This was like some strange dream where everything spiraled out of control and nothing made sense! “N-no,” she shook her head.

“No what?”

“No, to both! I’m sorry,” she mumbled into her hands. “May I please have it back. I need it.” It might be putting herself at a disadvantage, admitting that, but she had to try to get it back. And honestly, she felt she had been at a disadvantage in this encounter since the moment he had arrived.

He considered. “And if I give it back, what’ll you give me in return?”

“Wha-at?” No, that was not a good proposition! “What do you want?”

“Will you take back my banishment?”

With a sigh of relief, Shera nodded. 

“Bargain, then.” He took one step toward her and she flinched. He stopped, then bent and put the radio on the ground. Then he turned and started to leave. “I’m out!” he said over his shoulder. “All you had to do was ask nicely.” He winked at her, and strode away.

It was only with effort that Shera kept her trembling knees from folding under her as she watched him disappear into the distance. Relief washed through her, followed by confusion and a twinge of anger. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so out of her depth with any man before. And she still didn’t know who he was! 

And then she realized that he had disappeared over the edge of the tor, but at the opposite end to where her path was. The end that dropped down to the rocks that stretched out into the sea. She ran to the edge of the cliff and looked down, shading her eyes. But the tide was in, her sliver of beach was under water, the waves lapped at the base of the cliff, and there was no one there.

It took a few days and lots of pacing and animated discussion with herself for Shera to decide what to do. She kept telling herself there was nothing to be concerned about and that the stranger must have come in and left by boat. Even though it would be impossible to bring any kind of boat, even a small one, to shore in that area because of the rocks, and nevermind he wouldn’t have had time to be completely out of sight by the time she looked for him. But her mind hung onto that theory as the last shred of logic that she could come up with to explain the situation.

In the end she decided to stay. After all, the man had not offered her any harm. In fact he had been good enough to bring her belongings back to her, and had not taken offense when she had chucked a heavy object at him. She convinced herself that it was not a surprise that she felt unsettled and confused, but that wasn’t enough reason for her to leave. However she took the precaution of writing a detailed description of him in her journal, along with a rough sketch, and an outline of their encounter. At least then if she went missing maybe someone would read it and track him down. 

She deliberately did not make any mention of mermen, though.

Then she made herself a strong cup of coffee from her limited supply, a treat instead of her usual tea, and, full of caffeinated courage, she loaded up her bag and headed down the path. She had avoided going down to the beach but after several days of focusing on other areas of her part of the island, updating her field notes, and cataloging the specimens she currently had in her lab, it was time to face the inevitable.

Shera unpacked her bag and she tied her hair on top of her head to keep it out of the way and to protect her head from the sun. Kneeling next to the first pool she was soon engrossed in her work.

Soon the sun had moved until it was in her face, glinting off the water in front of her and she squinted, wishing that sunglasses didn’t interfere with both her vision and detecting fine colour differences. As she wiped the back of her hand across her sweating forehead, she suddenly became aware of another shadow next to hers. Her head whipped around and she landed on her butt in the sand, staring at the blond man squatting a few feet away, forearms balanced on his thighs and resting easily on the balls of his bare feet. 

“Don’t DO that!” Shera exclaimed. “Where did you come from!”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. This time, she noticed that his eyes were blue. The blue of the summer sky above them. “My mam always said I came from the Western Isles. But I think she was biased.”

“What?” Shera furrowed her forehead and settled her glasses back into place on her nose. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, where did you come from _now_? How did you get down the path without me hearing you?”

“The path?” He cocked his head. “Oh. Well, you were concentrating on your...” he waved a hand at her bottles and the small sieve net she still held. “your whatchamacallums.”

“I think I still would have heard you!” Shera frowned. 

“You didn’t though.”

She couldn’t argue with that. And that just made her more irritated. She prided herself on her keen sense of observation, and to have a large man sneak up on her twice now was very disconcerting. And embarrassing. And as an aside she was glad she had worn her tie-dyed t-shirt today instead of a halter top.

Opting for a no-nonsense approach and hoping he would just disappear as quietly as he had arrived, she pushed herself to her feet and brushed the sand off her bottom, re-tied her hair and moved to the next pool. “As you so astutely observed, I’m busy,” she said. 

He had risen when she did, but she drew a deep breath and ignored him. She was determined not to let him spook her anymore! She knelt down again and focused on the pool, occasionally jotting comments in her notebook.

When he knelt down next to her, arm almost touching hers, she flinched in astonishment and trepidation, but clamped her lips together and kept quiet. When he leaned forward when she did, trying to see what she was looking at, she caught his scent, the smell of the sea air after rain, with a subtle hint of musk, and she swallowed and breathed through her mouth. When he craned his neck to see what she was writing, she held her notes to her chest and glared at him, and then found herself staring at the smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of his snub nose. 

“I’m TRYING to work!” she said.

“What is this work that’s so important? Work is overrated.” He pursed his lips.

“Then you shouldn’t care what I’m doing. Go catch a fish, or swim, or whatever it is that you do on this island!” She was beginning to think he was simple, perhaps a local who was allowed to wander where he would and had no real responsibilities. Just her luck to have the island ne’er-do-well decide that she was interesting.

He laughed. “I’d rather stay and help you today. If you don’t mind,” he added more seriously, though the humour was still in his eyes.

Shera harrumphed and muttered and sighed. “Fine!” she finally grumped. “Just for a while. But don’t break anything! And don’t spill anything! And don’t contaminate anything!”

“Just tell me what to do. I’ll be careful,” he promised.

“Hold these, then.” She handed him a few sample vials. “Keep them upright, and only uncap them when I tell you so I can put the specimen in. Then close it tightly again, right away. Though I bet you’ll have a time with those small lids.” She handed him a few sample vials and as he took them from her, she saw the webbing in between each of his fingers, from the hand up to the first knuckles, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She had been hoping he would find assisting her too difficult or too boring and leave, and so gave him a job that required alot of waiting and alot of dexterity. Now she was ashamed of herself. Obviously the fellow had more than one disability, and she should be more patient with him.

He crouched there, holding the small vials carefully upright, looking at her in frank admiration. “Such colour. Like the sky at dawn on a clear day,” he murmured.

Her flush deepened and she looked away. “Um. I think it would be best if you didn’t say such things to me. Okay?”

“Why? It’s true. Or would you rather I told you you looked like a lobster?”

“No! Because it’s not, um, fitting. We can be friends, but friends don’t say things like that. Okay?” She didn’t want to encourage the poor guy, if he even knew what he was doing. And judging from the way he had been looking at her, she thought sourly, he definitely did. 

“They don’t? “ He seemed surprised for a second. Then he shrugged again. It seemed to be his go-to response for things that weren’t worth pursuing. “But we are friends?”

Shera sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes, it looks like we are.”

“It’s always good to have friends. And more than friends,” he said slyly, his mouth quirking at the side.

“Stop that!” Shera said sharply, feeling like she was being toyed with. “Now,” she drew a deep breath and spoke more calmly. “If we’re going to be friends, then I need to know what to call you. My name is Shera. What’s yours?”

“Shera,” he said, and somehow it sounded like a wave rushing in over the sand and whispering out again, leaving white foam in its wake. She shivered. 

“Right. What is your name?”

“Oh, you couldn’t pronounce it.”

“Really? I’m pretty good at pronunciation. Try me.” The irritation returned.

“Alright, then. My name is Cydchwedleuwr.” 

Shera’s mouth dropped open a little and her eyes glazed as she tried, and failed, to make sense of the word. It was all wet and twisty and came from the back of the throat and then swung forward onto the tongue and...nope. She couldn’t say it. Her ear could barely hear all of the separate sounds that it was comprised of. 

He was gracious enough not to say I told you so.

“How about I call you Cyd?” she asked finally.

“That’d be fine,” he said, eyes dancing again. 

“Alright. Cyd and Shera. Let’s get this done before the tide comes in.”

And in a surprisingly short time Shera had her data and her samples and not one of the vials had been spilled. She packed everything up and stood to go. Cyd offered to carry her bag up the path for her, and she hesitated, unsure if that would obligate her to invite him to her camp. Spending a few hours with him during the day was one thing, but having him back in what she considered her home territory disturbed her. What if he wouldn’t leave? He had before, but she had yelled at him. However, there was no way to get away from him until they got to the top of the cliff, anyway. She couldn’t just leave him down here and say ‘see ya around’ and expect him to not follow her up. After all, he had to get home, too! Shera frowned, realizing she still didn’t know where his home was, though at least she had a name for him now.

Slowly she handed Cyd her bag. “Okay. I can handle it, but...okay.” She turned to start up the path, then stopped. “You go first. I’ll follow.” The thought of him behind her where she couldn’t see him, and looking at her legs and butt as she climbed...no, no and no! Her cheeks were red again.

And that did not escape Cyd’s notice, but this time he didn’t say anything, just licked his lips in a knowing smile, and headed up the path. Swearing under her breath, Shera waited a couple of moments and then followed, grumbling to herself and keeping her eyes strictly on the rocks under and ahead of her. If she didn’t want to be ogled from behind, then she was certainly not going to be the ogler! And if she stayed back far enough, the temptation to just happen to look up and catch a glimpse of what was under that wrap would be easier to ignore.

When she huffed onto the grass, out of breath more from battling herself than the climb itself, Cyd was waiting. She blew out a breath and pushed her hair out of her eyes, then accepted the bag from him. “Thanks.”

He gave a slight nod.

“I’d better go,” she said after a short silence, feeling awkward. “It’s getting late.”

Cyd looked at the sun, then back at her. It was still mid-afternoon. Then he shrugged. “Have a good evening then. Sweet dreams,” he said with that sly smile. 

And Shera swore again and started to stomp away toward her camp, then turned as a thought hit her. Which way was he going? Was he going to follow her? But he was already gone, and she was left standing there again, and this time she deliberately didn’t to look to see if there was a boat waiting for him. 

The next day was a delivery day, and Shera waited impatiently for her supplies and for the chance to ask the lorry driver about Cyd. She didn’t mention him by name, thinking that a general description ought to be enough to identify him. The driver stroked his chin and stared at her in silence for a few minutes, then assured her that there were no big blond men on the island. Was he sure? With a population of only a couple hundred, all known to each other and most related, he was sure of it. He suggested that he take back the small bottle of uisge that she had been ordering with each batch of supplies, since she had developed a taste for it at the MacGregors. She declined. He asked how much longer her stay here would be, even though he knew to the day when she would leave. She said she was fine, thank you very much. He asked if the batteries for her radio were fully charged and if she had spares. She reassured him they were and she did. He nodded, got back into his truck, and drove away. But she noticed that the truck hesitated at the track, then turned left down the way to the MacGregors’ croft, instead of right and back to town.

She shrugged, then caught herself and slapped a hand to her forehead. How irritating to have already picked up such a habit! Grumbling, she spent the rest of the day hauling her supplies to her camp, unpacking and organizing them, and went to bed cranky.

She was still out of sorts the next day, and a cold wind and grey clouds didn’t help her mood. She sulked for most of the morning, pacing, and then sitting on the sward and angrily pulling up tufts of grass and throwing them into the wind to be whirled away. Her thoughts felt much the same, whirling here and there, with no sense or substance. She finally went into her lab tent and attempted to get some work done. When she realized she was doodling little sketches of a certain face, adding the freckles she had noticed, and the crow’s feet by the blue eyes, she slammed the notebook shut and pushed it away, then sat with her head in her hands, pressing her palms against her closed eyes and clenching her teeth in frustration.

A soft scratching gradually filtered into her awareness and she looked up and around, concerned that a mouse had got in and was helping itself to her papers. But it was no mouse. A large shadow stood outside the tent flap, silhouetted against the canvas, scratching gently on the tent flap for her attention. She rubbed her hands over her face and smoothed her hair back. “Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice stern.

Cyd stuck his head in and asked “What are you doing? More work?”

Shera slumped on her stool. ‘No,” she said, defeated. “No work today.”

“Then come out here in the fresh air. It smells in there.”

“It’s cold out there. It’s too windy.”

“It’s a breeze. Come out.” This time it sounded like an order, not a request, and Shera found herself up and outside before she knew it. The wind immediately whipped her hair into her eyes, and raised goose bumps on her arms. She shivered, hugging herself. “It’s a miserable day,” she said crossly. “How can you stand there like that?!” 

Cyd’s good humour was unaffected by her sharp tongue. His kilt flapped in the stiff breeze but he otherwise wore nothing, as usual, and seemed totally comfortable. And that made her more irritated, and she glowered at him. “You need more clothes.”

He crossed his arms and smiled. “Actually I’d wear less but it’s not polite when I’m here,” he said.

“Less? How much less can there be! Nevermind, don’t answer that. I need a sweater.” She stomped over to her other tent and Cyd followed her. “Stay!” she barked at him before ducking inside, and heard him chuckle as he did as he was told.

She came back out with a turtleneck and a heavy sweater on, and blushed as he blatantly evaluated her new attire. “Too much,” he said disapprovingly. 

“I didn’t ask for your approval,” she said. “I’m warmer and that’s all that matters!” Realizing that she had a visitor whether she wanted it or not, manners finally kicked in and she sighed. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.

“Tea, yes, I love tea!” He followed her to the little area she used as her cooking space. She pointed to the folding stool. “Sit.”

“There’s only one.”

“I can sit on the ground.”

“You sit on the chair. I am happy on the ground,” he said, and sank down, arranging his kilt over his crossed legs, then looked up at her expectantly.

For some reason Shera felt tears prick her eyes. She turned away, fiddling with the stove, and soon had a pot of tea steeping. When it was ready, she poured a mug for Cyd and handed it to him, and settled on the stool, cupping her own mug in her hands.

Cyd sniffed at his mug. “It’s hot,” Shera warned. He sipped at it anyway and made a face. “I warned you,” she said.

He sipped again and snorted, lowering the mug and holding it away from him. “What _is_ this?”

“What do you mean, what is it? It’s tea.”

“It doesn’t taste like any tea I know!”

“It’s green tea. It’s good for you. Shut up and drink it.” Shera sipped her own drink, feeling the hot liquid travel all the way down her throat into her stomach and begin to soothe her.

Cyd eyed her, then shrugged and manfully took another drink, grimacing but not complaining again.

Shera reached out one finger suddenly and touched his bare shoulder, then pulled back as if she had been burned. “You’re not even cold. You’re actually warm. That’s not normal!” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense!”

Cyd was quiet. Her frustration overflowed and she leaned forward, staring into his face. “You said that it’s not polite to wear less when you’re here. What does that mean? Where is it possibly more polite to wear less than you are now! Certainly nowhere near _here_!”

“Oh, I’m a local,” Cyd said with that mysterious smile again, and she wanted to slap him. 

“No, you’re not! I asked! No one knows you!”

“You asked?” Now it was his turn to frown. “No, they wouldn’t know me. I keep a low profile. But that may change now, since you asked.” His voice trailed away and his fingers traced around the rim of the mug. Shera noticed again how the webbing in between his fingers stretched and contracted as he moved them.

“This is really horrible,” he said, and dumped the remainder of the liquid on the ground. “Next time I will make you a cup of proper tea. All women should know how to make a proper cup of tea and I will teach you.”

She hunched deeper in to her sweater. Her glasses kept fogging up and she finally took them off and tucked them into her pocket “I hate you.”

“Do tell.”

“Go away.”

He sighed. “That again. Alright, I’ll leave you to your misery. And your tea that tastes like dirt.” And he rose gracefully, his wrap somehow staying together in the process...not that she was noticing...placed his empty mug carefully by the little stove, and strode off into the grey mist.

Shera sneezed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand, and looked into her cup. “It does taste kind of like dirt,” she admitted to herself, and his ruining her enjoyment of her healthy tea put the capper on a wonderful day.

 

Cyd did not appear again for several weeks after the tea episode. Shera fretted at first, always on edge in case he popped out of nowhere, but as time went by and nothing happened she gradually relaxed, her stress and worry about him withdrawing to the back of her mind.

It was one of the rare really sunny days, with puffs of white clouds scudding across the sky instead of the usual grey. The wind was blowing, of course, but today it was more playful than aggressive, and kept the temperature pleasant rather than chill. Shera had made an early trek down to the beach and was now sitting on the grass in front of her lab tent in the sunshine, fixing a broken vane on the anemometer. Her small tool kit was laid out beside her and she hummed while she worked. _~ ...this is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius!...~_

Suddenly a shadow blocked the sunlight and Cyd was standing next to her. “AGH! Don’t DO that!” she blurted, momentarily contemplating stabbing him the foot with her screwdriver. But then she’d have to use some of her precious first aid supplies to fix him and she felt that would be a waste.

“What are you doing?” He squatted next to her, picking up a pair of needle nose pliers and feeling the pointed ends. 

“Fixing this,” she said, resuming her tinkering. “Don’t touch those.”

“I won’t hurt them.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t touch my stuff,” she said without looking at him.

“I did say that.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “But since we’re friends now, I thought that might change.”

“Huh,” she grunted noncommittally.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the pendant dangling between her breasts. He didn’t touch, but his hand was awfully close and she automatically drew back a little and twisted her shoulders to avoid him. 

“It’s a peace sign.”

“A piece of what?”

“No, not a piece of something. A symbol of peace! Tranquility! Calmness! Serenity!”

“I can see how you would need that,” he said with a straight face, and she was tempted to punch him.

The last tiny screw slipped into place and she tightened it, then set the instrument on the ground and watched it critically while it spun. Satisfied, she started to put away her tools.

“What is this?” Cyd asked, reaching out a finger to stop the vanes from spinning, then removing it and letting them go again.

“Careful! It’s an instrument to measure the speed of the wind,” Shera answered. “Its called an anemometer.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I take all sorts of meteorological measurements, and record them and later I will see how things like the wind speed and the temperature and the barometric pressure and the solar radiation affect the microflora and microfauna of the littoral zone.”

“Ooooh, so many big words!”

“At least they’re pronounceable.” She said flatly.

Cyd was unfazed. “What are microflora and microfauna?”

“Why do you ask so many questions!”

“I like to learn. And I like to learn about you.”

That made her pause, caught between feeling flattered and feeling impatient. 

“I am studying the macrofauna and flora, such as the seaweed, crabs, sea urchins, mollusks and so forth, and the microflora and fauna, such as the diatoms and plankton and bacteria, of the intertidal zone, and how seasonal and monthly and meteorological and tidal changes affect them.”

“Soooo you’re trying to find out about the little lives along the shore.” 

“...I guess you could put it that way,” Shera admitted grudgingly, nevertheless impressed at how quickly Cyd understood the concept of what she was talking about, and summarized it concisely in plain language. “I’ve answered your questions. Now you have to answer mine.”

“Oh, you’re much more interesting than I am. I’m just a simple islander, after all. My life is limited.” He waved a hand depreciatingly and Shera looked down, knowing how wrong she had been with her first impressions of him. She wondered if he knew it; if he did, his comment was an astute way of shutting down any further questions from her, as now she was afraid of offending him any further. 

Leaning back on his hands, Cyd ignored her discomfort and changed the subject, gesturing with his chin to the birds circling above the cliffs. “Have you ever wanted to be a bird? Think of being able to fly! High up and looking down...I wonder what things looks like from up there. And to soar like that on the wind...” He looked a bit wistful, very different from his usual wry good humour.

“It’s quite the thing, yes,” said Shera. 

“You say that like you know.” Cyd sat up abruptly, leaning toward her eagerly. “Do you know? How? What is it like?”

Shera thought it a bit odd that even an isolated islander didn’t know about airplanes and gliders, but then he _was_ an odd duck. So she attempted to explain about planes and what it felt like to lift off the ground and what she saw while flying over the ocean versus land. This led to Cyd peppering her with questions about all sorts of tangential topics, and a couple of hours later Shera felt exhausted.

Then an idea occurred to her, something that might serve to distract her insatiable interrogator and give her a break. “Have you ever flown a kite?” she asked.

“I don’t fly, I swim,” he said. “And I don’t know what a kite is, so I’ll say no.”

“You don’t know what a kite is,” she repeated. This was a prime kite flying place if she ever saw one: lots of open space and an ever present wind. As long as you didn’t run into a cliff or fall off the edge of one, it was pretty much ideal. She couldn’t imagine why all local children weren’t avid kite flyers! 

“Well, a basic kite looks like this...” Shera grabbed her notebook and tore out a blank page, then sketched a quick diamond shape. After a brief explanation she jumped up and went into the lab tent, rummaging around and coming back out with some packing paper and a roll of twine, tape and scissors. She dumped everything in front of an intrigued Cyd and then stood with her hands on her hips. “We need something for the spine and the spars, wood would be light enough, but...oh!” She brought over one of the wooden food crates and found her utility knife and then sat back down.

Shera never thought that she’d be sitting in the sun with a mostly naked man on top of an island and building a kite, but there was a first for everything! Things went slowly at first, as she let Cyd try the scissors and then as he struggled to get the tape to tear off without sticking to itself or his fingers, but he was an apt student and learned fast. And he proved to be very deft with the knife, quickly removing what they needed from the crate and whittling the slats to her specifications.

“You’re very good with your hands, you know,” she commented as the crosspieces took rapid shape.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “So I’ve been told,” he said nonchalantly.

“I was trying to give you a compliment!” Shera blustered, cursing herself for walking into that one.

“Thank you,” Cyd said, and handed her the finished pieces with an innocent grin.

“Bah!” Shera snatched them from him. “Now, these go like this...”

And very soon, comments forgotten, a kite with a big peace symbol drawn on it in black marker was soaring majestically above the tor as the two ran back and forth on the grass, laughing and pulling on its tether. 

They gradually worked their way across the tor toward the jutting cliff face. As they got closer to it, the wind currents changed, deflected by the cliff, and suddenly their kite took a nosedive straight toward the rock and smacked into it, flattening against it and then sliding downward as Cyd stood helplessly holding the now-limp string. 

“Ouch,” said Shera. “Poor kite! I hate it when that happens. I hope it didn’t break!”

She went to free it from where it had got hung up on its downward slide, but it was out of her reach. She looked for a suitable foothold so she could boost herself higher up but the cliff was too sheer at that point. Exasperated, she put her hands on her hips and huffed, then turned to ask Cyd to come and see if he could get it.

Except he was right there behind her, and she turned right into his chest, losing her balance and grabbing at him so as not to fall. “You!” she squeaked. “Again with that!” 

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all as she smooshed up against him.

“I bet you are,” she said. “Can you reach the kite?”

He stretched one arm up, then lowered it and shook his head. “Not quite. I’ll have to be a bit closer.”

“Alright.” Shera tried to squirm out from between him and the cliff face. “Just...move a bit, will you?”

“Certainly,” he said, and moved closer so that she was well and truly trapped. Staring into her eyes, he reached up again and freed the kite, bringing it down without breaking his gaze. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I mean, no. I mean...” Cyd let the kite drop and ran his hand slowly up her arm and then cupped her face, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek. His other hand landed on the cliff beside her, supporting himself as he leaned even closer. 

Shera knew her face had to look like she had a sunburn, it was so hot, and she hated the fact that she had no control over that. She swore she had never blushed so much in her life as she had around this man! But his eyes were so blue, and she couldn’t look away and her heart was pounding in her ears and...

“Such beautiful colour,” Cyd murmured, caressing her cheek. “Like the little sea anemones that are so delicate and beautiful but sting when you touch them. Are you going to sting me, little anemone?”

Shera opened her mouth but no sound came out. Cyd ran his forefinger over her lips, barely touching them, and then down to her chin. He lifted her chin slightly so she was looking up at him.

“Say anemone,” he whispered. 

She swallowed. “Wha-at?” she asked, confused.

“No, not what. Say anemone. Come on, I want to see you say it. Those lovely lips of yours are made for a word like this. Say it with me now, nice and slow, a...ne...mo...ne....” His finger went back to barely rest on her lower lip.

Mesmerized, she slowly repeated it. “a...ne...mo....ne...”

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and then his lips were on hers, and her arms were around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest and her leg came up around his and she could feel him through his flimsy garment and she wanted that off him and his hands were on her bottom pulling her closer and ohhh, he felt so good!

When she woke, she was lying naked on her sleeping bag in her tent. It was dark and she was by herself, but she didn’t feel alone. Her fingers drifted up slowly and gently touched her lips. “a...ne...mo...ne,” she whispered slowly and carefully into the dark, and smiled in wonder.

Shera bumbled about her little patch of island in a bit of a daze for the next few days, mechanically going through the motions of taking her measurements, recording data, keeping her camp tidy. Sometimes she forgot to eat, coming to herself while sitting on her folding stool with a plate of food gone cold on her lap, and she couldn’t say what she’d been thinking of. But her mind felt peaceful and quiet for the first time in weeks.

When Ronald Ian MacGregor showed up in his ancient vehicle to invite her to ride out a particularly bad storm at the croft, she climbed eagerly into the rattletrap. She didn’t admit it to herself, but her intent was not so much to escape the weather as to finally have a chance to hear more about the sea folk. 

Cozy in the firelight, with a borrowed shawl around her shoulders and a cup of uisge in her hands, she steered the conversation to the topic she was interested in, and Ronald Ian and his da, old Conor, launched happily into hours of yarn spinning and discussion. 

There were stories, yes, told round the fire to pass a long winter’s night, or to explain the luck, good or bad, of a certain fisherman. But no one had ever admitted to actually seeing one of the merfolk with their own eyes. It was always a great-granda, or a man from another island, or a friend of a relative three times removed. And those were mostly encounters with females, whether they were selchies or mermaids. There were far fewer stories of male creatures, except vague warnings that they existed, and were not to be trusted any more than their female counterparts. The women would look down and the men would glance at them sideways and change the subject, whenever they were mentioned.

But Ronald’s wife had a keen eye, and noticed how Shera leaned forward to catch every word and how her face glowed, and the woman’s lips set tight. Out of the corner of her eye, Shera caught her making the sign to avert evil, half hidden in her skirt, and turned to look her full in the face with astonishment, confused and more than a little offended to be on the receiving end of such a gesture. The older woman met her eyes without shame and then deliberately turned away. The men might know every word of a story, but the women had their own knowledge about what dangers, and temptations, came from the sea, and what ruin they brought to a woman’s life.

The next time the weather turned bad, with her feelings still smarting and not sure what she had done to offend, Shera refused the invitation to join the family again. Ronald Ian hung out the window of his truck, weathered brow deeply furrowed in concern and tried to persuade her. She was polite but firm, saying she was in the middle of a critical experiment and couldn’t leave, and that she would be fine and she had her radio if she needed anything. The word experiment was enough to put the man out of his depth and he nodded reluctantly, saying his wife would be disappointed not to see her, and booted the truck into gear and slowly drove off, veering into the rising wind.

“Somehow I doubt she’ll be disappointed,” Shera muttered under her breath, made one last check of her camp to secure everything and retired to her tent with a lantern and a book.

An hour later she threw the book aside and sat unhappily in the gloom. The tent was waterproof and well staked, but nothing could keep out the noise of the wind ripping at the billowing nylon walls, or the cold that sank into her very bones. She was angry at herself for insisting on staying, but her pride was a small red coal in her heart that still hadn’t gone out.

But that little coal didn’t keep her warm. She piled on almost every piece of clothing she had, her sweaters, a wool toque, a scarf wrapped around her neck and up over her head. Her hands were still cold, even in their gloves, and she tucked them under her armpits and pulled her sleeping bag up around her for a further barrier. The noise of the wind destroyed her concentration and made reading impossible. She finally gave up and lay down and tried to nap, dozing and dreaming of hot pizza and gooey cheeseburgers and planning what she would eat first when she got back home.

Oddly, she began to feel warmer and wondered vaguely if she was developing hypothermia, then shrugged to herself. If this was how she was going to go, she could think of worse ways. “Whatever,” she mumbled. “Maybe the evil eye is going to get me after all.”

There was a low chuckle in her ear. “Not if I can help it.”

Shera thrashed, trying to twist around in all her clothes to face whoever was behind her. But she could hardly move, and of course she knew it could only be one person. “I hate it when you do that!” she exclaimed.

“Do you?” A bare arm encircled her and snugged her firmly against a broad chest. “Stop acting like a turtle on its back.” He chuckled again, his voice vibrating against her. “Though you look like a turtle in all those layers. What are you hiding from in there, little turtle?”

“It’s cold,” Shera huffed, stopping her struggles. “A fact I know escapes you.”

“It doesn’t,” he assured her. “And I know for a fact that it’s much nicer in here with you than out riding the storm waves.”

Curiosity erased her irritation. “Do you really ride the storm waves?” she asked.

“When the mood strikes.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“How....” she trailed off, trying to picture that.

“Someday I’ll show you. We’ll ride the storm together and then you’ll understand.”

“You can’t be serious,” she snorted. “How would that even work? Besides, I hate deep water. Anything above my waist and it’s a no go!”

“When you’re ready, I’ll take you and you won’t be afraid. I’ll be there with you.”

“It’s a nice dream,” Shera said wryly, not wanting to completely shoot him down.

“I’m glad you agree,” he murmured, pushing her hat off so he could nuzzle her neck and bury his nose in her hair. She couldn’t help giggling.

“Are you warmer now?”

“Yes,” she said drowsily, unable to keep from snuggling happily back into him.

“Good. Then we’ll ride out this storm here for now.” And he leaned up on his elbow to kiss her.

 

And the next few months passed quickly. Cyd came and went as he pleased. Shera never knew when he would suddenly appear, usually scaring her out of a year’s growth. On days when she thought for sure he would show up there was no sign of him. And when she finally gave up watching for him and was focused on something else, he was often waiting for her on the beach or at her camp. He might bring a fish or some puffin eggs for a meal, or an unusual shell and its occupant that he thought she might be interested in. He still avoided her lab tent, with its odd and unpleasant smells, but she brought her small field microscope outside and showed him the wonders of extreme magnification. On the occasions when there was good enough reception to tune in to a distant radio station, she introduced him to pop music and the latest dance steps. And there were always the admiring looks, the subtle touches, the slow invasion of her personal space, and the kisses that seared her skin and progressed to drowning her in passion like she had never known with anyone else.

One day Cyd arrived to find her with crates stacked on the grass and trying to tame a half-collapsed tent that flapped in the stiff breeze. “What’s this?” he asked. “Did you blow down? I always thought this was a flimsy thing.”

Shera straightened and pushed her hair out of her eyes and her glasses up her nose. Her headband couldn’t contain the longer strands that the wind constantly tore out of braids and pony tails. She rested her hands on her hips and sighed. “No, I took it down.” She squinted up at him, the sun in her eyes. “I leave tomorrow. Did you forget?” 

She could see by the expression on his face that he hadn’t. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Did you think I would? And that I wouldn’t come before then?”

“I wondered.” She shrugged, trying to act like it was no big deal, when in fact she had been almost frantic, thinking that she might not be able to see him one last time and say good-bye. After all, she had no way to reach him, and no way to leave him a message.

He laughed, the creases by his eyes crinkling and those white teeth flashing. “You’re a lousy liar, my Shera,” he teased her, and her heart stopped at the possessive. 

“Don’t,” she said, raising her hand, palm out. 

He was silent for a moment, watching her. “Alright,” he said easily. “Let me help you with this.” And together they wrestled the tent into submission.

Afterward, by silent agreement, they made their way down the path one last time to the tiny beach and rocky basins. Out of habit, Shera bent to scan both of her experimental pools, silently bidding their tiny residents good-bye and thanking them for their patience with her, even when she landed her big butt in their home.

Finally she turned to face Cyd. “I hate good-byes,” she said, her arms folded across her bosom.

“Then we won’t make this more painful.” He closed the distance between them with two steps and wrapped her in his strong arms. She buried her face in his bare chest and he rested his chin on the top of her head. 

She drew a shaky breath. “This...this has been the most incredible time of my life. I’ll never forget it.” She tilted her head and looked up at him, memorizing those sky blue eyes and every one of those faint freckles, the chiseled cheekbones and every line and groove of the face she had come to love. “I’ll never forget you.”

“Of course you won’t,” he said smugly, ruining the moment, and she punched his chest in exasperation as he grinned at her. Then he sobered. “And to make sure you don’t...” He let her go and went to the base of the cliff, bringing back a narrow rectangular box whose dark wood had blended with the rocky outcropping it had been resting on. He handed it to her. “I thought we’d be here again and I brought this for you.”

She turned the box in her hands, smoothing her thumb over the fine grain and rounded edges. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He grinned again, then cupped her face in both large hands and kissed her long and deep. Her eyes closed and one hand grasped his wrist, not wanting to let go. Gently he loosened her fingers, pressed one last kiss to her palm, and then stepped away. “Let me know when you’re ready to ride the waves,” he said, and strode down the rocky beach, away from her.

Shera watched him go, blinking back tears, clutching the box to her chest as she had her walkie talkie at their first meeting. And once more she watched him disappear around the rock wall at the end of the little cove, where it tumbled down to meet into the ocean. After a few minutes, she sighed. It was time to go. No sense standing here like a fool any longer. 

But as she turned to go back up the path, a movement caught her attention, and she shaded her eyes to look out against the dazzling sea. Out along the ridge of rocks Cyd was making his way as casually as if he were strolling with her on the grassy tor. His wrap was gone, and she caught her breath, admiring his sculpted physique yet again. He seemed to have something dangling from one hand, and when he got to the end of the rocks, he looked toward her and raised his other arm in salute. 

She waved back, smiling at the picture he made silhouetted against the sea and sky. How like him! He must have left his wrap on the rocks, and was going for a swim. But what was he doing? Shera squinted; Cyd appeared to be fastening whatever he had been holding around his waist. Then his legs bent a little, muscles bunching in thighs and calves, and he sprang off the rocks in a spectacular dive, arching out to miss the edge of the rocks, aiming for the deeper water. And as Shera watched, at the height of his dive the sun flashed on his blond hair, and then along his body, and then on the shimmering cobalt scales that now encased his legs and feet. Arms over his head, he cut the water cleanly, and with a flick of a massive tail fin, disappeared under the water.

Shera’s hand went from waving to covering her mouth in shock and she stood rooted to the sand, staring at the place where Cyd had disappeared. The last of her denial was swept away. “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true!” she whispered, then began to laugh and laugh, tears running down her cheeks, not sure if she was happy or sad or having a mental breakdown. She gulped, trying to get ahold of herself, wiping her eyes and still giggling. The sea was empty, just the waves rolling endlessly in to the shore. Finally she shrugged, knowing that was a gesture that would stay with her now, and turned her back on the ocean and headed up the path. 

 

“And I came back, plunged right in to analyzing my data, wrote my thesis, and the rest is history.”

Moira was leaning forward with an incredulous expression on her face, clearly fascinated but drinking it all in. Her mouth opened and shut several times, and she licked her lips, searching Shera’s face. Shera stared back at her blandly. Finally Moira sat back and exhaled loudly. “That’s...incredible. A whale of a tale, to be sure!”

“Mmm. Quite the tail.” Shera’s mouth quirked and she looked down at the box in her lap and then out across the water. “Sometimes it seems like it was all a dream. An amazing dream.”

“Maybe it was...?” Moira said carefully. “Being alone for a long time out there, hearing all those stories...the mind can do funny things, you know. And...maybe it was different back then, but...there’s no harm in a temporary fling. No one would judge you now, if you had met someone, had some fun, and then went your separate ways. You don’t need to make something up to hide that.”

Shera was amused. “And how do you explain this?” she asked, lifting the box a bit and letting it drop again.

“It’s a weird looking thing, but you could have picked it up anywhere! A flea market, one of those on-line sites,” Moira waved her hands in the air as if gesticulating would prove her point.

“Do you really think I’d lie?” Shera cocked her head to one side. “I mean, why? Why would I make something like that up? There’s no reason. And why would I need such a story to try and explain this thing? I could just as easily tell you I bought it and have kept it because it’s so odd and beautiful.”

“I don’t know!” Moira exclaimed. “It just seems so...things like that don’t exist. They don’t! Humans have been to every corner of the earth, and no one has ever found evidence of any of the so-called cryptids. No Bigfoot, no Nessie, no chupacabra. They’re all just stories and old wives’ tales. Fun to listen to but that’s all. No facts behind them!”

“And of course facts are everything,” Shera nodded. “As scientists we build our lives and stake our careers on that.”

“Exactly!” 

“Well, then, forget I said anything. You’re right. That was a lifetime ago and half a world away. My old brain is probably misremembering alot of things. I probably found this at one of the tourist traps and put it in the drawer and forgot about it until now.” Shera shrugged and smiled brightly. “Thanks for humouring an old woman. It’s been a good evening but it’s getting late. We should head back now, tomorrow is a big day.”

“You’re not old!” Moira jumped up and took Shera’s hand, helping to pull her up and steady her while she found her balance. 

“Ugh, I get so stiff after sitting for a while!” Shera sighed. “Let’s take it slowly, okay?” 

By late afternoon the following day the last box and filing cabinet had been removed from her office. Shera was tired, and silence after all the hustle and bustle was a relief. It had been a long day, physically and emotionally, and she just wanted go home and close the door on this chapter of her life. But she took the opportunity to sit in her chair once more before heading down to Admin for the last time to turn in her keys. 

She smoothed a hand over the nicked and scuffed surface of the desk she had spent so many hours at. It would stay, and she wondered who would sit here next, and what they would be thinking.

“Still haven’t gotten any better with good-byes, have you.”

“No. I...” Shera looked up as she spoke and stopped short, the words dying in her throat.

Cyd leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, and a slow grin crept across his face as he watched Shera’s expression go from shock to confusion to disbelief and finally settle on joy. “You...” she whispered. Then “You did it again. Don’t DO that to me!” But she couldn’t stop the incredulous smile that threatened to split her face in two.

After last night’s conversation she had had a hard time falling asleep, and her dreams had been restless and anxious. She had woken with a headache, full of grief for what she had thought long buried and put aside, and with a small niggling worry that Moira had been right, and her memories were nothing but delusions. But the box was still there, in her bag; she had hesitated about leaving it at home, then decided to take it with her. It was the only solid evidence she had that her mind had not played tricks on her.

But now here was all the evidence she would ever need, standing before her, and she felt giddy with relief as well as happiness. She couldn’t help drinking him in from head to toe: the blond hair still bright, even under the fluorescent lights, and curling a bit over his forehead; the intense sky blue eyes zeroed in on her with laser focus; the snub nose with its faint freckles; the strong jaw and cheekbones. But, he now wore more clothes than she had ever seen on him. A blue button-down shirt, the colour matching his eyes, was open at the collar and the sleeves were rolled up to show his muscular forearms. Jeans hugged his thighs and boat shoes covered his feet. He looked every inch a handsome but ordinary man, and yet the goose bumps rose on her skin as they had before in his presence.

“How.... why are you here?” she asked. “How did you find me? And why! After all these years, why?!”

A blond eyebrow rose. “Because you called me. Finally, you called. How would I _not_ come? How would I _not_ know where you are?” He was genuinely puzzled.

“I what? I didn’t ca..... oh.” The shell. And her strange reluctance to even try to find out what kind of sound it might make. Now she knew her hesitant feeling had been correct. But, had she known, would she have used it earlier? It didn’t matter now. She believed all things happened for a reason, and perhaps this was exactly the right time for such a reunion, regardless of who had actually sounded the call. She smiled again. “Yes, I guess I did.” 

“I guess you did,” he grinned, and pushed off the door, opening his arms to her. “Come here to me now, woman,” he commanded, and Shera couldn’t help but obey.

But she tried to rise too quickly and had to grab the edge of the desk as her knee threatened to buckle, instead of being able to leap up and jump into his arms like she wanted to. He hadn’t aged a day, and Shera was suddenly very conscious of her grey hair and her own crow’s feet, which came with years and not just smiles, as his did. She was no longer the fit and firm girl she had been so long ago. She looked away in embarrassment, suddenly wishing he had not come back to see her like this.

Without a word, Cyd closed the distance between them, and finally she was in his arms, buried against his chest, smelling the clean ocean tang of him again, and she let her shame go. She was home. 

She was oblivious to the footsteps coming down the hall until Moira burst through the doorway in a flurry of youthful energy. “Okay, Shera! Everything’s loaded and...uh” She screeched to a halt at the sight of her mentor and a big blond stranger locked in a tight embrace. “S-sorry!” she stammered in surprise. “I’ll come back later!” 

She started to backpedal out of the office but Shera gave Cyd a little push so that he let her go and she could regain some composure. “No, no, it’s fine,” she said with a shaky little laugh, wiping her eyes but unable to wipe the smile off her face. “Moira, I’d like you to meet Cyd. He’s just arrived.” Cyd cut his eyes down at her and gave a little snort, then turned his attention to Moira. “Cyd, this is my assistant and my friend, Moira. I was telling her about you, just last night, in fact.”

“Is that right,” Cyd marvelled, raising an eyebrow. “What a coincidence!’ He nodded at Moira, not offering to shake hands, and she flushed beet red and looked like she didn’t know if she should curtsy or bow or make a break for it. Shera couldn’t help giggling a bit; she knew exactly how discomfiting it was to be on the receiving end of that piercing blue gaze. Taking pity on the poor girl, she tugged at Cyd’s arm. 

“Thanks for your help today, Moira. If you don’t mind, can I leave my keys with you to turn in to Admin? It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t expecting Cyd to show up at the end of it. He and I have alot of catching up to do.” 

“Oh! Oh, yes, for sure, I can take care of that for you. You go.” Moira looked at Shera shyly, now that the time had come to part ways. She had anticipated being able to say good-bye in private, and now she wasn’t quite sure what to do. “I guess, I’ll see you around?” She looked hopeful.

“Of course!” Shera found a lump in her throat, all the emotions of ending her time here flooding back. She limped forward, unaware of Cyd keeping a steadying hand on her back, and hugged the girl hard. “I’ll be seeing you, of course! We’re going to keep in touch, right? Just like we planned.” The two women were reluctant to let go, smiling bravely for each other, and finally stepping back with small pats and teary nods.

“Right,” Moira sniffed. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” Her usual confident demeanor returned, and she winked cheekily at Cyd, who raised two eyebrows this time. “Have a good time with your cryptid hunting!” 

A dead silence settled over the room and Moira’s grin faded. She looked uncertainly from Shera’s alarmed expression to Cyd’s thoughtful stare and back again. Shera realized she had made a grave error in confiding to the younger woman the previous night. But, in her defense, how was she to know the subject of their conversation would appear in her office the next day!

“Yes, I think it’s time to go,” Cyd said calmly. “But one thing, before we leave.” He turned to Shera, “Do you have your box?”

She blinked at the unexpected question. “Yes, actually, I do. It’s in my bag there.”

Cyd retrieved it. In his hands it slid apart like silk and he unwrapped the shell, and put the box back in Shera’s bag. Then he held the shell up and snapped it in half. There was a tiny tinkling sound, barely audible, and the two halves dissolved into a small pile of glittering rainbow dust, coating Cyd’s hands. 

He stepped toward Moira, who was gaping in astonishment, holding his hands up before him. Some instinct must have kicked in then, breaking the girl’s paralysis, and she backed hastily away from him, right into the wall. “Jaysus, Mary and Joseph!” she cried, unexpectedly channeling all her ancestors in that instant and frantically crossing herself. Cyd smiled sweetly at her, and blew the dust off his hands and into her face. The sparkling cloud settled over her and her eyes closed, and Cyd caught her as she slumped.

It had all happened so fast that Shera didn’t have time to question what was going on, let alone do anything about it. Now she found her voice. “Cyd! What did you do! Moira! Is she okay? What did you do to her!” She fumbled for her cane, not sure if she should hurry to Moira’s side or back to her desk and dial 911.

“She’s fine.” Cyd carried the unconscious girl to the chair and lowered her into it, arranging her arms on the desk and then gently pillowing her head on them. “She’ll just have a little nap and when she wakes, she’ll only remember being tired and sitting down to rest for a while.” 

Shera cast a doubtful eye on her peacefully breathing assistant. “But is she okay?” she fretted. “Did you have to do that? Will she be okay?”

“She might have a bit of a sore neck when she wakes up,” Cyd shrugged. “And yes, I had to do that.” He gave her a stern yet slightly exasperated look, as if he expected her to immediately see the logic of his actions instead of berating him.

Shera smoothed the hair back from Moira’s forehead and let her hand rest for a minute on her shoulder, trying to satisfy herself that she was alright and no harm had been done and that indeed, it was necessary. Finally she sighed. “Alright. I understand.” She fished her keys out of her bag and left them on the desk where Moira would find them when she woke up, and took one last look around.

Cyd waited patiently for her to finish, and then spoke softly, “Are you ready now, my Shera?”

The words seemed to rush toward her and wrap around her and it seemed she could hear the sound of waves upon a sandy beach and taste the salt on her tongue and feel a breeze left her hair. Her fatigue fell away and she suddenly felt light and young again, and she honestly couldn’t muster much concern for all the worries of an hour ago.

“Yes,” she said, surprised at her own conviction. “I’m ready.”

She shouldered her bag and reached for her cane, but Cyd stopped her. “You won’t need that.” He reached into his front pocket and brought out a small tightly-rolled cylinder. He let it unfurl into a long strip of smooth iridescent material, reminiscent of supple scales but gossamer light and fine as it skimmed over her fingers. It came to her in a flash where she had seen something like this before, from much farther away, but the colours under the light were unmistakable. “Like yours?” she asked, looking up at him, remembering him removing something like this on the rocks before standing up as a man the first time she had seen him, and later fastening it around his waist just before his dive off the rock at their last meeting.

He nodded. “I promised we would ride the waves together one day. With this, you’ll be home with me forever.” He waited, holding the belt out. It was up to her to accept it. Or not.

Slowly, she stroked it, thinking, and then closed her fist around it and took it from him. It was time for a new adventure. She shrugged. “Why not. Sounds good to me!” 

Throwing back his head Cyd laughed and then swept her up in his arms and kissed her hard. “Then let’s go, my Shera, and find your new world!” And he carried her out the door.


End file.
